GentleLook at her,how she sweeps the floor with her toes,and strokes the wind's cheek with her fingertips.Look at her,how she smiles when water swirls,and laughs when the fire cackles.Look at her,how she takes earth's many hands,and breathes in each heart's beat.Look at her.Look at her pure power.Look at her "direct democracy".Look at her tyranny.And look at how she's so gentle
Head RushSomedays, somedays,I wake up and a hurricane hits meLife slaps me in the face,and the strongest yearningcontained in spinning, dizzy,painedfromthehit blood,is to go back to sleep.They say that a head rush is from drugs,Or when you're yanked up quickly to your feetand gray fog surrenders your senses.In my case, it's both. My headrushes with the wake up call.The vertigo hammers me.I can't see or speak.I'm encased in silence.And that is how I wish to be;Addicted. Adrenalized.Waiting for the next punch.But if wishes were fishes there'd be no water;left to drink, left to swim in.I never understood that metaphor.Why can't we just swim in the fish?They say the omega three is healthy,and we can get our water fromthe fruits of the f-o-r-b-i-d-d-e-nright?No. No, not right.
Define: RapeConsent:1 permission to do something; 2 accept; to give an affirmative reply to; respond favorably to.I don't give you permission to break me intomillions and millions of shardslike a spirit-bound mirror;I don't accept your reasoningyour accusationsyour lies;I don't give you an affirmative reply tocast me into the burning, fierystar of hatred that you bought;I don't respond favorably toyour malice-filled smileyour snarling eyes.Coaxing:1 blarney: flattery designed to gain favor; 2 pleasingly persuasive; in a cajoling manner.I did fall into your flattery becauseyour taunting fingers soughtout my skin; I didn't recede,but for some bizarre reasonyou didn't gain my favor.I did see that you were pleasingly persuasive bythe way you shoved me into the brick walls ofthe alley, graffiti-ed on by your lustscreaming out in spraypaintthe point of no return.I did notice your cajoling mannerisms, foryou moaned in my ear while I screamedyour hands trapped me down excitedly
Rags and RichesI personally think it's strange thatyou're so egotistical,because when you have everything,all your mind has is nothing,which leaves your soul inr u i n sbroken beyond disrepair,like an idle girl flapping her gums,trying to impress thatbus-stop bell boywho's thinking about nothing but hisnewspapers andr i c h e smade of rags and bright eyesin the sparks of familyand the brotherhood thatis cored in blood,melted in veins,and formed in cold nights ofp o v e r t ythat thought, there,I can see it glowing in your smirkdare you think that the poorhave nothing?why darling, quite the opposite,they, in fact, havee v e r y t h i n g
.cracked like shining roses.Complicate me, break me, And divide me like seeds.I'm willing to spread my roots for you...aren't I?With thosetender hands that I know so very well.Thy fingertips hath cultivated boundless roses from,sowouldn't that make sense?With all red eyes and red smiles andblue, blue tears,sharpened teeth of thorn,you may perhaps be your own garden, sweetheart.But the important question is,who has masked themselves your gardener?When the darkness of night that clasps over my eyes likefame might a starlit, dare you call me blind?Although I seek Hell when I'm holding firefly lanterns,dost thou call me greedy? Dost thou seek revenge?Each burn is a lesson, not just a body-heat-nerves scarbut a mental one, each whisperingfirefirefireworks hot fiery thingsthey caused this, yes yes,don't touch.When you're burned, you always remember,but when you're cracked, darling,love is cast away.But when all you live for is
Misplaced QueenEgyptian gold lurks in her eyes,can you see it?Her lips have become twin crimson rivers,And her words spark like fiery snakeswhen that smirk graces her face.Yet she knows not of love, or care,Her heart shriveled like a burned feather,As seasons pass the little girl by like shoelaces,The grapevine stains beneath her royal eyes are dyed darker,Like a crippled nighttime, reborn and reappearing on young skin.Only a child, but if you look into her eyes,You'll see the riches there, shockingly cultivated inhatred and pain, in the least pure soil and sand surroundingthe pyramids of her past, that refuse to be broken down, forgotten and buried.She wanders the streets of broken Aegyptus,Forgotten underneath every other name better than her own,Buried below each pair of eyes, of feet, that traverse her dark skinnedpathway, as she follows daydreams that whisper to her of rivers that flowupward and fairy princesses spread with shaved golden dust, taking her hands.Egyptian gold lu
Satanic NightValue the ugliest things,nor pain the easiest habits,though I live to drown myself.Welcome to my ego,doesn't it look empty?I wonder why you make believe.Justifying your escape, endlessly.Searching for, yearning forsadly, I do not know...you; I did not know you.A way out of nowherereveals itself to me,rearing up out of the past, serpentine, like someforsaken memory.Too long confined, weakened roots give waya cold rain of emotion, the coming storm;ready to explode, in a rush of uncontrolled rage.some say I've been broken, some say I've been bent,leaving dysfunction, a whispered hunt of home again.Drowning out your shouts, I long to burn it out,like a feverish goodbye, before the dried up fingersreach back and drag the dirt back into our long gone grave.Why are you always running in place?Because at present I'm spent repressing the past like moldy copper pennies.Taint your soul, cripple the moonlight,describe the hunger,that
Arouse Resurrectionhow can wind sound like broken glass?I don't know how it manages the howling pain. when each word, each sigh is like a slicing feather and your ice can only remain solid as remains of snowing summers.But until then, my friend,until then, I'm speaking of your high tide winters, and how they swept across the land with a heat so intensethat the water jumped in shock, while lunar moons and starlit sky's icicle dewdropsvanished in the frost, beneath a thousand marching seasons.when, Queen, when? are we allowed to speak languages untold?starting out with skies dripping in gold, precious as Egyptian River Nile, death dipped papyrussecret centuries yielded the beauty of unknown.how does wind sound like broken glass? is it because seasons never last?each tinkling, gregarious seam, thinkin